I just attempted to set up my first video on this blog. Not sure that's going to work, but HEY...can't blame a girl for trying.

I first fell in love with the music of JJ Cale in 1975. Geoff was a pup and I was living in Encinitas in blissful ignorance and poverty. Oh well. Anyway, I went to the Roxy (which was later reinvented as a movie theatre with very cool loungy seats, but I don't know if it still exists). On the bill with JJ Cale was Maria Muldaur. I was young, thin, and full of myself. I wore this amazing dress, basically a very skinny, floor-length, scoop neck sleeveless t-shirt with airbrushing on the front. I remember, and this is the thing my dears.... I wore NOTHING under it. NOTHING. At one point I walked up the aisle to the lobby and when I came back my then-boyfriend exclaimed over my blatant exhibitionism. Eyes had turned, I knew that. Oh, ho hum. Yes. Those were the days my friend. Milk it while you are young. Yes, do.

And while you are at it, buy the new disc -- Road To Escondido. I guess JJCale lives in my home city. Don't think I ever knew that. He's amazing. Smooth. I still have his works here, and I think Geoff has the original vinyl.

Whatever happened to Maria Midnight-at-the-Oasis Muldaur? She was hot, too. Ah, we all were hot. California girls. Prime. Mmm mmm mmm.

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JJ Cale and Eric Clapton - After Midnight

This is fabulous.
Run... yes, do not walk, RUN out and buy ROAD TO ESCONDIDO.
Of course this song isn't on it, but you get JJ Cale and Eric Clapton...what could be better? Ah, this is GREAT.

Heart Attack

By now everyone knows that my husband experienced a heart attack.  And I keep saying that I had a heart attack, too.  Is that too much "me me me"???  By saying that I had a heart attack, I hope to convey the seriousness of spousal involvement.  I hope to say "I'm in this with you, honey."  By no means do I think I actually HAD a heart attack.  But I do think my life has changed immeasurably and I need to face facts.  Mortality has reared its ugly head.  Not that we all don't consider our mortality... as in DAILY.  But a heart attack and all the attendant bells and whistles brightens the spotlight on that  dull black gloom of the afterlife.  Strike that.  What is TRUE... we now hold life a bit more dear, a bit more cherished, and we are laughing a lot more.

Mostly my writing has bitten the dust.  I'm sure I'll be back.  I've been feeling overwhelmed.  I have mucho papers (freshmen comping) to work, and midterm grades are due this week.  I have family arriving November 1 and I'd like to finish some nifty (if I do say so myself) Halloween decorations -- my theme is "spiders."   All that, and I've been baking bread.  Which is why I'm awake right now, at midnight on Saturday.  Waiting for bread to bake.  Mmmmm.  The aroma fills the house -- wheat, raisin and walnut bread.  I think it's doomed to failure, but I know my husband will eat just about anything.  Kindness extended reveals a BIG heart.  I think he can handle this heart attack business just fine.  It's me we all have to worry about -- yeah, yeah, yeah -- always all about me, huh?  Back to the bread... see you later.

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Take A Look - We DO have a plan!

This is a great video of John Kerry on Bill Maher.  It's time to quit saying Dems don't have a plan.  He's been explaining his plan for pulling out of Iraq for a long time. I hope. I hope. I hope...somebody listens!!!

http://www.johnkerry.com  -- look for the video re Maher

How do you ask someone to be the last man to die for a mistake?  Vietnam.  Iraq. 

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Bread

What is it about the process of baking bread?

I forgot how much I love baking bread.  The hours of anticipation, combined with the moments of work, the amazing yeasty aroma which premeates the house, and the textures and tastes of the finished product, provide a full experience of life.   I feel connected to an ancient chain -- a hand on the staff of life passed for thousands of years.  As I tenderly pull apart the delicately strong weaving of wheat, I see the connection to my writing life. 

I have combined elements, deftly employed imagination, and allowed for ideas to rise, like the yeasty bubbles in the dough.  I've kneaded -- oh, how I've kneaded.  And rested.  And kneaded.  And allowed for more rising. 

As yet, I've no finished product, no enticing aroma wafting through my home.  Obviously, what is the point, if not to taste the fruits of my labor? 

I'm making a vow to finish MAGIC IN THE MIX, one of my four novels, by the end of 2006. 

Meanwhile, I'm hooked on baking bread. 

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Moaning Yet Again

Again with the butt in the seat.
Again with deadlines.
Again with so much distraction.  I once believed that living in the forest would afford me the time and solace with which to write. 
I've come to the clear and honest revelation (as if I never knew... denial rocks) -- writing equals discipline.  Most people say "writing is a discipline."  And that would encompass the idea, but not bring the two notions close enough for my money.  The two words beg to be layered -- one upon another, like a sheet of yellow tissue paper and a sheet of blue tissue paper creating the color green.  Oh, and then slap a little Modge Podge on that puppy and you've got a... a... um... creation!  Whatever.
I have to write the next chapter in my book today.  Something exciting and dangerous and FUNNY must occur.   Writing comedy is so not funny.  Time and again it feels forced and contrived and "how the heck will anyone laugh?"  Mostly the critiques say "I laughed here at work" or "I've been laughing since I started reading."  But I find that so hard to believe.  For me, it's just not funny after I write it.  Suppose that's a normal reaction?  I mean, having dreamed it, considered it in so many angles, then brainstorming, drafting, and writing -- zaps the fun right out of the damned thing, eh?  Oh well.
If I am moaning here... I'm not writing.
Onward and upward.
But .... dear friends... comedy hints would HELP!

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Sunday Mornings

My Deadlines.  How do you feel about deadlines?  Necessary?  Unnecessary? 
The art of writing is the art of sticking the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair and ... WRITING! 
Do self-imposed deadlines work?
I have a very difficult time making myself work on a schedule.
Say, get into the seat by 9 and stay until noon.  That's a good start, but I discover diversions -- from this blog and the internet, to reading a book.  Having a lot of free time is a godsend AND a horrible cookie jar of temptation. 
Sometimes I think I'm improving; sometimes I regress.
I've embarked as "Challenge Czarina" for my online writing group.  This means that I create "Challenges" -- almost like small contests -- for the members.  Basically it's a deadline.  I've set the deadline as one week of writing, but the participants set the number of words.  To create fun and interest, I post a prompt: a line, scenario, or even a picture.  Writers choose and implement the challenge prompt. 
The summer challenges have helped me get back into four stories.  I'm excited.  Possibilities abound.
Now... I just have to get my butt into the seat.

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Deadlines. How do you feel about deadlines? Necessary? Unnecessary?
The art of writing is the art of sticking the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair and ... WRITING!
Do self-imposed deadlines work?
I have a very difficult time making myself work on a schedule.
Say, get into the seat by 9 and stay until noon. That's a good start, but I discover diversions -- from this blog and the internet, to reading a book. Having a lot of free time is a godsend AND a horrible cookie jar of temptation.
Sometimes I think I'm improving; sometimes I regress.
I've embarked as "Challenge Czarina" for my online writing group. This means that I create "Challenges" -- almost like small contests -- for the members. Basically it's a deadline. I've set the deadline as one week of writing, but the participants set the number of words. To create fun and interest, I post a prompt: a line, scenario, or even a picture. Writers choose and implement the challenge prompt.
The summer challenges have helped me get back into four stories. I'm excited. Possibilities abound.
Now... I just have to get my butt into the seat.

Thought I'd get back into blogging. I can't find my old blog. Okay, I could have said, "can't teach an old blog new tricks," but I didn't, did I? No.
I checked the clock. Too late for anything meaningful to develop at this juncture.
Nite nite.